


FORTUNE FAVORS THE FOOL

by Chloris01, tdorian



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Gap Filler, M/M, queer as folk season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:09:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chloris01/pseuds/Chloris01, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tdorian/pseuds/tdorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 3 episode 4 : aftermath. Brian state of mind when he leaves his sister's house.<br/>Thank you tdorian for the translation of my fic !</p>
            </blockquote>





	FORTUNE FAVORS THE FOOL

FORTUNE FAVOURS THE FOOL

 

The street lights slowly parade. He feels his hands shaking.  
Of anger.  
Of fear.  
Of shame.

He has dropped everything. Told her what he thought. Watched her straight in the eyes. Choosing the crudest words. The most despicables.  
She hasn’t blinked.  
And the other has just started to scream. To threaten him. 

So he left.

_I’m not gonna hate them. I’m not gonna hate them .I don’t want to hate them._  
 _I’m just gonna forget them._  
 _Make them disappear._  
 _Annihilate them._  
 _Tear off everything they’ve been for me._  
 _Destroy everything._  
 _Reduce them to silence for good._  
 _Shatter their image in the meanders of my memory._

The hypocritical house finally disappears in the night.  
With those who occupy it. Haunt it.  
The wheel is soft under his fingers. Reassuring. Peaceful.  
It’s his.  
He stops at the first quiet corner because he can’t stand the movement anymore.  
He would like to not think anymore.

_I’m not gonna hate them._

He feels good sheltered in the Corvette. Hidden. Nothing can reach him.  
It’s his.

He would like to not think about his mother. Her hair. Her mouth. Her voice.  
Her words.  
He would like to not think about the pleasant memories anymore. Before the fear. Before sin.  
Before damnation.  
When his mother still knew to bend over him with a smile before shut down the light.  
When she till knew how to speak to him, without waiting for something in return.  
When she acknowledged,and approved, of his existence.  
He would like to remember if…He would like to know, be sure they are memories, and not dreams.

_I’m not gonna hate them. I’m not gonna hate them._  
 _I will not let me lose._  
 _I’ll simply let them die quietly deep inside of me._  
 _And let them know._

Head supported against the window, he feels the vibrations of the motor against his cheek.  
It’s alive.  
Almost joyful.  
His hands are still shaking and it drives him mad.

He thinks. 

When he had to get down to the parking, the cop on his heels. The shirt still open.  
And the contemptuous stare of the man, right here, in his back.  
He remembers of having had…a doubt, for a while. Had he fuck this one ?  
He had managed to get rid of the condom by sliding it discreetly on the floor, before he got in the back of the car.  
And the silence of the other cop. After having told him why he had been…summoned ? Arrested ? Interrogated ?

It’s fear he had felt at this moment, an incredulous and sticky fear. Something odious nestled deep inside of himself. A deep abyss where he has hidden for several hours. Until Michael came to take him. This fear…then the shame.

Because he already understood that it wasn’t a joke, a mistake…that everything was real.

That they had pointed at him, condamned, executed. Without remorse or regret. Without excuse.  
They had pinned the unfaithful man.  
The homosexual.  
The fag.  
The pervert.  
They are within their rights. Fortune favours the fool. Their quest is just. God guides them. Enlightens them. Divine certainty for the unworthy mother and the ungrateful sister. Piously faithful to their miserable existence. In the Kingdom of the Blind…

_I’m not gonna hate them. I don’t want to hate them. I can’t hate them._  
 _I’m just gonna burn every hope. Scream my disgust._  
 _Throw up on their risible fears._  
 _Crush their good consciences. Leave them bloodless, emptied. Banned._  
 _I’ll be able to laugh at them. Soil their images. Pee on their Book. Spit on their graves._  
 _Deny their existences._

He straightens in his seat. The leather emits this refined screech that always soothe him. Gives him some of his lucidity back.  
He cuts the engine. But the silence…  
The silence suddenly weighs on his neck, his shoulders, his stomach...an insufferable, sickening burden.  
He feels like everything in him dissolves. Rises. Chokes.  
He understands that it’s that, to die.

Then, sedately, and without having really decided it, Brian screams with all his might, with all his body, grabbed at the wheel, offered throat. The rage, the fear, the sorrow…everything bounces against the windows, the windshield, the seats.

Nobody hears him.  
Nobody sees him.

When he feels he has exhausted every possibility of relapse- scream at full lungs in the street is not a recommendable option, especially at the moment – he restarts the engine. Listen this sound spreads in the substance of his being, peaceful, soothing, perfect.  
It’s alive.  
It’s his.

Then he turns up the sound of the radio. He doesn't want to hear himself cry.

He doesn't want to hate them.


End file.
